Outer Monologued My Inner Monologue
by LadyZotalot
Summary: Wally is oblivious to the fact that he's enacting a master plan to get into Dick's pants until it works.  DickxWally


**A/N:** I'm drawing person/tense/POV out of a hat (well, I don't have a hat but you get the idea). Here's 1st person/present/limited.

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><p>"Wally?" Dick asks as he removes his cape. He tosses it over the side of a chair. He really shouldn't do that. Aunt Iris would have a fit if I did that and I know Alfred is the same way.<p>

"Sheesh, Dick. Pick up your clothes," I chastise him.

He laughs. He faces me as he does so. I don't laugh with him so he peels off his domino mask. Now that I can see his eyes, I smile.

"Yeah, okay," I give in, "I guess I'm a hypocrite and all-at least here at the cave. At Mom's or Barry's I always tidy up."

Dick is nice enough to turn away so that I can't see him roll his eyes. I may be lying about the cleanliness of my rooms. It's not my fault that cleaning is so easy at super-speed; after all, what's the point in being careful day by day when you can procrastinate until the whole room is trashed?

"The point is to not be living in a pig sty," Dick says.

"Huh?" I ask. Dick is acting like I said that last bit aloud.

"You said that last bit aloud."

"Oh," I say since I've just remembered I am a moron. "Oops?"

Dick walks into that closet of his which I swear is larger than my entire room here at the cave. Dick, more likely than not, hacked something so that he got the roomiest place here. Either that or Bruce just spoils Dick rotten.

It's probably the second one. Bruce is a real softy when it comes down to it. Besides, if the room assignments are all Bruce's fault then Dick didn't give me the smallest one and therefore he's not a jerk. The world where Batman is a jerk and Dick isn't is much preferred.

Dick comes out of the closet. He's really Dick now since he's wearing civvies-pajamas to be exact.

"You're going to take a nap?" I ask.

"No. We're having a pillow fight and I just wanted to look the part."

"Really?"

This is going to be awesome. I'm sure I can trick the rest of the team into playing. I will take all the hard, uncomfortable pillows that are on the beds of the team members who are not spoiled rotten by Batdaddy and murder Dick with an intensity never seen before. Then, after I win, I am going to make my secret chip dip. Me and Dick can convince Conner to eat it despite the gallon of hot sauce. It shall be epic. In fact it will be—

"No, we're not really having a pillow fight, Wally." Dick doesn't hide his eye roll this time. "It's called sarcasm."

Sometimes, it takes living in my mind where super-speed makes time tick by very, very slowly to help remind me that I am a moron.

"You're not a moron," Dick says with a huff. "But you should work on keeping your inner monologue inside. It's really frustrating when you start talking and I don't know if I'm supposed to be listening or not."

"Oh, well, sorry." I rub at my neck when I'm nervous, but I try to act cool around Dick so I stop myself and place my hand on my collar instead. I play with the zipper head of my jacket and pull it down.

"It's alright, bro," Dick pays no attention to my embarrassment, "It's a just a quirk and that's nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone's got one." Dick's lip twitches. "Or two…" He bites down on his lower lip to keep it from twisting into a smile. "Or three…or—"

Dick's smirk breaks through then so I shove him back into the closet to shut him up. I zip away and return with one Arty's titanium bows. I wedge the door closed with a laugh.

"There," I shout as I admire my handy work, "I'd like to see you get out now."

This should teach him to never wag the carrot of a pillow fight in my face only to snap it away.

Dick pounds on the door from the inside. "Dude, this is not cool!"

"You're the not cool one, bro," I tell him.

"Why's that?" Dick sounds upset. I wonder if maybe I should let him out. "I'm not the one who wants to have girly pillow fights."

"I am never ever letting you out," I insist because he really deserves being stuck in there for that comment.

"Yeah, whatever. This works fine for me, you know?"

"What, because you really love living your whole life in the closet?"

Shit. Shit. Shit. He's going to think I'm insinuating something. He's going to hate me. He's going to freak. Shit.

"Yup, I do," Dick says easily.

So instead of bringing about the end of the world, he's just going to complete ignore the double entendre?

Since when does Mister I Force People to Call Me Dick Instead of Richard Because I'm a Juvenile Troll ever ignore a double entendre?

"Since I fought like three alien invasions in the past 48 hours and became very tired, Wally. Now shut up, I'm taking a nap."

"I hate you and your big, stupid ears which hear things I don't mean to say aloud."

"Well, I love you and your big, stupid mouth which says things you don't mean to say," Dick says lightly. I can't tell how serious he is by his tone. The muffling of the closet door doesn't help either. "Now shut up for real or else my opinion on your mouth may swing in a different direction," he tells me.

Well, why should I care about a threat like that? I already swing in a different direction.

"Nice to know your mind is always in the gutter," Dick replies, "Now leave me be."

"Uh…"

This really wasn't how I meant to come out. Suddenly, I kind of want to listen to Dick's order and make myself as far away from him as possible. I bolt out of the room and hide in the kitchen.

I help Megan make some coffee cake with lots of cinnamon. Okay, so mostly I lick the batter off the mixing bowl, but it's the thought that counts.

Kaldur and Artemis argue over how to work the espresso machine which Dick definitely hacked Bruce into ordering because even Bruce isn't that desperate to prove that he loves his son. This machine is massive and expensive and technical and shiny. It turns me on and scares me at the same time.

I retreat to hanging out with Conner. Conner eats my hot sauce concoction. He has really big hands which make really big fists. I leave before I can see just how big they are up close and personal.

When I enter Dick's room, he isn't on the bed. I hear his soft snoring from inside the closet. I pull the bow off the door gingerly as to not make a sound. I creak open the door.

Dick is sprawled out on his stomach among a pile of clothes. He's made himself a nest out of coats, and gym pants, and hoodies.

I think Dick is sleeping for real. Maybe I should poke him, but he looks so comfortable. Aunt Iris certainly never wakes me up when I'm spent. Maybe I should leave. Why did I even come in here? Dick would kill me if he knew. It's way beyond creepy sneaking into the bedroom of your best friend-your _guy _best friend-who you may or may not have a crush on just a tiny, little bit.

I can manage it. It's just a stupid crush. Right?

It's only a crush because I want to watch him while he's sleeping so he can't be annoyed when I stare. I want to stare because I'm addicted to how my stomach flutters when I see him. My stomach flutters because I know he laughs with me when he should be laughing at me. He laughs with me because he's my friend. He's my friend because…

What did I ever do to deserve this guy?

When we first meet, I tripped over my feet like a moron. I was about to wipe myself off of the floor when Robin offered me a hand up. I refused to take it.

He was just some little kid and I wanted to hate him. He was years younger than me but so much better. He could follow orders and work with the greatest hero while I was struggling to begin my sidekick career. Robin even invented the idea of sidekicks. He can smile while he's surrounded by people who want him dead. He can laugh while straining to fight off an attack. He can fight without superpowers. He is so strong.

I wanted to be like Robin. I was jealous and, honestly, I am still jealous.

I do not envy his teamwork since I have learned from watching him and have improved myself. I do not envy his records as I am the Fastest Kid Alive and that's pretty awesome at the end of the day. I can match his flippancy in the face of danger. I can plaster on a fake smile with the best of them. I risked my life to gain these powers; I work hard to use them to their full potential. I am not jealous of his skill.

So why am I jealous?

He doesn't know how amazing he is. I am jealous that he's stolen my heart and doesn't even notice. I can't mimic that. No one wants me. I don't inspire fantasies or mix tapes or epic love poems and I will continue to deny doing all those things for him until he likes my silly daydreams or songs or poems.

I doubt that day will come.

I know it's a crush because I want him and he doesn't want me back. This has to be only a crush because I can't handle anything else. If he is my first love and he doesn't want me back I don't know what I'll do with myself.

I can't imagine my life without him.

This is only a crush. Right?

Right. It's only a crush. I just need to focus. This is the battle of willpower over hormones. This is great and wonderful and fantastic. Me and willpower are like peas and a pod or peanut butter or jelly or…

I am a terrible liar; I can barely even lie to myself. Honestly, willpower and I are like Superboy and tights: put us together and you get a mess, a hot mess but still.

Superboy's tights would be so…tight. He doesn't have to wear the cape though. It would be a shame to cover that—

Ah, what?

I am focusing and not getting distracted. I have excellent focus. This is me focusing like a pro. I am focusing like a photographer on a busty Victoria Secret model. I am focusing like a golfer at the eighteenth hole. I am focusing like... a superhero at a stakeout.

Robin has tremendous focus. I think if Batman told him it was necessary to watch paint dry for the rest of the day he'd come back with a detailed report on which sections of the wall dried first, where more primer is needed, and the variance of the paint's shading as the sun hides behind the clouds. It's that insufferable focus that lets him ignore me so easily in favor of something really important.

It's entirely unfair. Why can he ignore me when I find it impossible to ignore him? I wish I could make him see the way I do. I wish I could do something more than just watching as he's sleeping like a creeper. One day I think I'll crack. I'll run up to him as he's laughing or smiling or, hell, even working on a mission. Then I'll just grab him close and draw him into a kiss.

And then he'll yell at me because I should really know better. He always expects more from me than I expect from myself. I can't let him down. I need him to believe in me for a good reason: because I will follow through on his hopes and wishes. He always follows through on my dreams…not the horny ones, but the ones that really matter. Dick always offers a hand up. He always has my back. He—

He still has my heart.

"That's nice," Dick grunts. I hadn't realized he was waking up. His hair is raggedy and I want to reach out to fix it.

"Go ahead," he says staring me dead in the eyes.

"What?"

"Fix my hair."

"Uh," I rub my neck and hope it's too dark for him to notice, "what?"

He sighs and pats down his hair himself.

"You're so weird sometimes, Wally."

"Oh," I whisper.

He laughs. "It's a complement. You're cute."

"Oh," I say without thinking. I blink. "Huh?"

Dick sits up in the pile of clothes. He pats for me to join him. I do. The wool of the sweeter I sit on itches against my arms. I scoot over closer to Dick.

He's really close. Maybe too close. He doesn't seem to care. In fact, I think he's—

He kisses me and I don't know what to do. Shit. Shit. Shit.

I need to focus. Focusing on him has never been a problem before. I swear, I really don't know why I freeze up.

Maybe it's because I've been dreaming of this for so long that I can't process it. Maybe it's because he's just so good at it; he's deep and sensual and he pulls me in soul and all.

My teeth click against his. He pulls back and leans his forehead against mine. His hands curl around my shoulders.

Maybe it's the suddenness. I mean, why is he reacting now?

"Because you say really nice things and I'm sick of not showing you how much your words mean to me," Dick tells me. His breath is hot; it blows into my face as he speaks so close to me and makes my cheeks flush.

"I…I've been talking aloud?"

He nods in a peculiar way since we're still touching head to head. He rocks me up and down by his hands on my shoulders and rubs his head down into my hair.

"Dick, do I really say things I don't mean to say a lot?"

"Wally," he pulls back his head but keeps his hands tightly wound on me, "you mean to say what you say."

"No…I'm pretty sure I don't."

Dick really overestimates my confidence.

"You're the bravest guy I know, Wally," he responds.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. You've got real courage to try to pull something like this on me," Dick insists.

"What are you talking about?"

"Your master plan to get in my pants," Dick whispers.

"I…my what?"

"It's," Dick leans in and touches my lips with his fingers, "brilliant how you used that stupid mouth of yours."

He drops his hand from my mouth and returns it to my shoulder. I lick my lips. "I don't understand."

"Hypnokinesis," he says. His voice is low and breathy as if the word is a secret shared between lovers behind closed doors. I eye the mostly closed door of the closet which lets in a small stream of light. I think about closing the door completely. I need the light though. I need to be able to see him, here, with me, now.

"Hippo kinetics?" I restate the word as closely as I can remember it.

"Hyp," he kisses my collarbone, "no-" He places a kiss by my ear. "ki-" He teases my hair between his greedy hands. "ne-" Dick hovers his mouth above mine. He taunts me.

I growl deeply and pull him towards me. I wrap my hands in his hair and muss it up just so I can fix it later; I want every excuse to touch him. Hell, I don't even need an excuse to touch him. Not any more.

I seize his mouth and refuse to let go. He mumbles the last syllable into my tongue. "-sis"

I reluctantly weaken my grip around his shirt. The fabric unravels but stays wrinkled as I let go.

Dick stares at the wrinkles. He should just really take it off at this point. It looks like crap.

"I agree," Dick says. He pulls off his shirt at my unintended verbal prompting.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I need to focus. His muscles burn into my retinas and I can't look away. How do I focus in these circumstances? Even a professional would have some problems here.

"Why do you need to focus?" Dick asks with a tilt of his head.

He's so adorable when he does that.

Dick rolls his eyes. "Wally, focus, remember?"

"Uh…" I close my eyes but still picture him. I gulp. "What does hypokinesis mean and what does it have to do with…"

"Getting in my pants?"

"Yeah," I manage to respond. My voice is groggy and my throat is dry.

Dick's fingers trace the outline of my oval eyes. I flick them open and find his blue eyes directly above me.

"It means that you tricked me through sleep hypnotics," he edges closer, "since every time you come in here and outer monologued your inner monologue…" Dick trails off as I smirk at his wording. He rough houses with my lips until the smirk falls away into quivering jelly. "Well," Dick continues. "All that talking messes with a guy's mind and it makes me just have to love you. It's," he licks his lips, "like science."

"Science?" I mumble.

"Yup."

"You really know how to turn I guy on," I decide as I retake his mouth.

Briefly, I stop to think that maybe we should stop. I really don't think Alfred appreciates us mauling each other atop all these good clothes. It's not really sanitary.

"Does that mean you want to stop?" Dick replies.

"Hell no."

I can always clean up later. What else is super-speed for?

"That's a nice double entendre there, Wally."

"…I really need to watch my mou—"

On second thought, I think I'm fine with Dick watching my mouth for me.


End file.
